Come Home With Me
by midnights in rio
Summary: Bering and Wells cuddling. That's about it.


The first sign something is amiss is that her door is slightly ajar. She's tired-exhausted really from a day spent running after Emily Dickinson's first draft-but Myka Bering never forgets and she can see how she left her room clear as a photograph in her head-door closed and locked. Their rooms are the little bit of privacy each of them have and she'd gotten tired of Claudia and Pete barging in when she's trying to sleep, damnit.

As soon as she realises the door is open, she freezes, sliding a hand under her jacket to touch the cool metal of her pistol. Drawing it she creeps forward on almost silent feet, eyes flickering to the corners and shadows of the hallway.

And then she bursts into the room, switching on the light, gun muzzle raised at the figure by her window.

"Darling, I'd thought we'd moved past this troublesome business."

"Helena," She breathes, already stuffing the gun back into its holster. HG is leaning against the wall, Tesla at her hip, dressed in black and grey and white. Her smile and how good she looks in that dark, pin-striped vest does nothing to hide that she looks as tired as Myka feels.

Myka steps forward and touches her, fingertips brushing over the crisp white material of her shirt, "Sorry. I'm a bit...on edge." The last year has been...

Helena says nothing, black eyes on hers. Myka isn't quite sure how they've gotten into this position, with HG against the wall and Myka's hand on her shoulder. She can feel the warmth of the other woman soaking through her clothes. Her eyes fall to HG's mouth.

She imagines kissing her. She imagines her lips are soft and her hair is silky against her skin. She wonders what would happen if they finally admitted what was between them. She wants to find out.

Instead she asks, "How'd you get in here?"

Helena smirks slyly, "I climbed in your window. You ought to remember to lock it, my dear Agent Bering."

Myka laughs. At least she goes until HG steps forward and automatically she wraps her arms around her, one hand at the small of her back. HG presses her forehead against the taller woman's shoulder, hand bunching slightly in Myka's jacket. It's going to wrinkle. Myka doesn't care.

Myka breathes her in-paper and smoke and perfume and something like electricity-as that dark hair brushes her cheek. It's not a hug between friends, this intimacy, but they've always been tiptoeing around that line between friend and something else.

"I've missed you," Helena says softly, her works puffs of air against Myka's neck.

"I've missed you too." Myka isn't gay. She's never looked at a woman the way she knows she looks at Helena. But she's sick of there never being enough time for the two of them. She's sick of this push and pull between them. She wants. So she cups her cheek, looks into those deep, dark eyes and kisses her.

Helena melts into her and her mouth is soft and warm and Myka will never get enough of this. Her arms wrap around Myka's neck and her lips are parting under hers and relief and desire are tangling in her chest.

This, she decides as they part and HG is smiling (some incredulous part of her is pointing out that _she just kissed HG freakin' Wells), _has been a long time coming and she should've done this a long time ago. Well perhaps not, it's never been the right time but now it is.

The smile blossoms into a full-blown smirk, "You truly did miss me, darling."

"Yeah," Myka says simply. She'd been-terrified-after everything had happened and then HG was gone without a word.

HG brushes past her, fingertips lingering on her wrist. She sits on the end of the bed and starts pulling off her boots.

Myka's mouth is suddenly dry but she isn't a reckless person. She likes plans and knowing where she stands. So she says, "We should talk."

HG glances at her with a small sad smile on her lips, "In the morning."

"Helena..."

"Darling, I fear I may fall asleep on my feet, which is hardly conducive to such a discussion," The Englishwoman replies, pulling off her vest and letting it pool on the floor beside her boots. Another one of those smirks that shouldn't be so charming, "Your virtue is safe with me, Agent Bering."

Myka rolls her eyes, "I'm going to go have a shower."

When she returns, her hair damp and wearing an old, too-large shirt that settles over her, Helena is in her bed, under the covers, a book in her hands. Myka pauses for a moment to take the scene in for a moment, until she sees the title of the book and laughs.

HG grins at her over the top of _the Time Machine. _It's what Pete would call 'so meta'.

"Really?"

Helena raises an eyebrow, "You're the one with it on your bedside table."

She shrugs, "I missed you, alright? It made me feel closer to you." She doesn't look at her as she slips into the bed beside her, grateful for the warmth. She doesn't catch the way the author looks at her as she sets the book aside.

"I'm so very glad you enjoy my books," Helena murmurs, moving closely. They fit together, Myka's front pressed to her back, knee bumping against thigh, arm looped around her waist. Sleep creeps over them.


End file.
